


As We Forgive Those

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-22
Updated: 2001-09-22
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The President finally addresses the nation... about a couple of things.





	As We Forgive Those

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**As We Forgive THose**

**by: SheilaVR**

**Category(s):** General  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** Like anyone would believe me if I laid claim to these characters myself. Yes, I am playing with someone else's toys. And no, I am not seeking any profit in the process - that would take all the fun out of it.  
**Summary:** The President finally addresses the nation... about a couple of things.  
**Spoiler:** "Two Cathedrals"   
**Author's Note:** I have not yet seen any trailers or spoilers for the second season finale, nor do I *want* to see any. This is just my attempt at predicting how Aaron Sorkin's mind works, after watching "18th and Potomac." I'm auditioning for the position of Deputy Deputy Communications Director. (:-D) 

*****

Television screens all over the world went black, then royal blue... and then showed the Presidential Seal. A solemn voice almost no one knew and almost everyone promptly forgot announced, "And now, the President of the United States."

Many Americans would recognize the setting that next appeared: the Mural Room in the West Wing of the White House. Those gorgeous wall paintings could scarcely be mistaken. However, no one really had time to admire them, because every viewer's attention, without exception, swung immediately to President and First Lady Bartlet.

They sat side by side in comfortable armchairs, both angled a bit towards each other, his right knee and her left knee almost touching. The President wore a standard dark business suit, white shirt and bright tie, just like any other executive besides the *Chief* Executive; the First Lady looked quietly beautiful in a deep green tailored satin dress. Neither seemed actually *tense*... although they both sat up straight and proper, hands clasped formally in their laps.

As a majority, the audience *was* tense. Their leader did not make live addresses without a good reason and an important one. Any doubters had only to register the visible shadows in the eyes of the two famous faces now confronting them.

Jed Bartlet began, his voice level and firm. "Our fellow Americans, good evening."

His wife did not echo the greeting aloud; he'd already included her. She just nodded slightly in endorsement.

"Abbey and I have a few things we'd like to share with you tonight." The President paused, and one eyebrow twitched in a hint of amusement. The he turned to his right and deadpanned, "You don't mind if I do most of the talking?"

The First Lady considered this unnecessarily-polite request, her eyes twinkling back at him. "I'll let you get away with it for the moment."

"Thanks." Bartlet flashed her a smile, but it vanished almost at once. The international audience moved closer.

Turning back to the camera, the President shifted in his chair, bracing his elbows more firmly on the arm rests and leaning forward just a bit. "There are three matters I want to mention to you right now. The first... is that I have been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis."

Whatever the reactions across the country and around the world might be - in that shocking silence after so simple and yet so devastating a statement, the gasps of the camera crew could clearly be heard on tape.

The President never blinked. The First Lady did.

After a good five-second pause to let the bulletin sink in, he continued. His voice became rather flat, and those who knew him could tell how tightly reined-in he was keeping it. For those who didn't know him quite so well, he sounded in complete control. "Before anyone panics on me, please hear me out. I'm not going to go into the medical lingo; you can find that in any encyclopedia. Suffice it to say that MS is a degenerative disease of the central nervous system. We don't as yet know the cause. We also do not yet know of a cure."

He paused again. You could have heard a pin drop anywhere in the US.

"There are basically two degrees of severity. My present condition is relapsing-remitting, the first stage. The most common symptoms include dizziness, blurry vision, tremor of the hands and numbness in the extremities. A flare-up of the disease usually lasts only a few hours at most, after which the patient fully recovers." A listener could hardly have told from his tone that "the patient" he referred to was in fact himself.

"The next stage is secondary progressive. The relapsing symptoms worsen into chronic fatigue, memory lapses, loss of cognitive function, blindness, paralysis and more. Relapsing-remitting MS does not always develop into secondary progressive MS... but it can. And the second stage is the fatal one."

The President took a long breath. So did many of his listeners.

The First Lady never looked away from her husband, as though just the steadiness of her eyes could infuse him with strength.

"So much for the clinical definition. As of now, my health is pretty darned stable. I am still perfectly capable of exercising my duties as Chief Executive of this country. If, however, at any time I should become incapacitated, then the chain of command immediately kicks into gear. Vice-President Hoynes already knows of my condition. So does Admiral Fitzwallace of the Joint Chiefs, as well as my senior staff, and of course my closest family members. These are all people who would not hesitate to tell me if I was even temporarily unfit to do my job."

Bartlet shifted some more, and glanced down before he could again look his nation in the eye. This is where the director of a drama would cue the ominous music.

"Now we come to the crux. Whether you voted for me or not, you the people deserve to know the absolute truth. This diagnosis was not made last week, or last month. It was made eight years ago."

No doubt some people watching made the connection at once. The President waited another calculating few moments to let others catch up. Then he spelled it out for everyone else. "That's right - I ran both for Governor and for President without revealing to the public that I have this potentially crippling disease."

Just imagine the uproar *now.*

The two people before the camera did not even twitch, holding still with all their might. After a silent count of ten, Bartlet gathered his nerve yet again.

"So, who's still with me? I'm not done just yet."

No doubt some people shut off their TV sets at this point in disgust, anger, or both. Hopefully, most remained tuned in, however furious or shocked they might currently feel.

"Let me state right off that I never lied. *Never* have I denied that I had any such medical condition. Neither has anyone else. There has been absolutely no pressure applied to *anyone* to conceal this fact about my health, by me or any other quarter. MS does not show up in a regular annual physical. Those of us in the know simply never volunteered this information.

"I know what some of you are going to say next. Let me save you the effort. Technically, lying by omission is still lying. Legally, lying by omission is fraud. I ran for office under false pretenses. You the voters did not have all the details to make a fully informed decision. According to our political system, what I've done constitutes a crime."

Bartlet ran a hand across his forehead. "So, for those of you who haven't walked out on me by now, let me tell you the *why* behind all this. I'm not trying to justify my actions. I know I'm going to get socked with a storm of legal processes no matter what I say next. But I want you to have the whole story, once and for all.

"First off, I've always considered it a private matter. I get no pleasure out of discussing it with anyone. For eight years now my family and I have had to face the possibility that some day I won't recognize them. That I won't be able to pick up my grandchildren. That I won't be able to love my wife. That this mind," he tapped his forehead, "which has earned a doctorate and a Nobel Prize, will begin to rot away. It's a nightmare all of us have avoided even acknowledging at every chance we got.

"Now I realize that privacy tends to be denied *any* public official. The voters have to know about the person they're considering for a position of power and responsibility. I admit it: I doubted very much that you'd elect a President with such a health risk. Never mind those Presidents before me who have had their own medical problems. I'm not trying to cite any of them as a sufficient precedent. The job of Chief Executive is difficult enough and dangerous enough without throwing *this* factor into the equation as well.

"For the record: since taking office over two years ago, I have suffered only one such attack. Less than fifteen minutes later I was called to the Situation Room. I was sufficiently recovered to enact my duties as Commander-in-Chief. Had I not been so able, the proper people would have taken appropriate measures in accordance with our Constitution. More to the point, I *would not* have risked the welfare of this nation in such a manner. I'm asking you to believe me.

"Okay, now I'd like you to take a look at this from a different angle. If my condition does deteriorate in the future, then my chance to make a contribution to the world is shrinking every day, and I must seize every opportunity to use my time to its fullest. If, however, my health holds steady, then there is no reason for me *not* to pursue my goals to the very best of my abilities... just like any other citizen would. If I honestly believe that I can make my best contribution by running for office, then I ask only to be allowed to try. If at any stage I should find myself physically unable to do so, then I accept the fact that I'll have no choice but to resign, and crawl away to die."

The President's lips tightened before he resumed.

"There's still more. For eight years I've been hiding from a vision - a future that scares me every bit as much as the prospect of the MS itself. I do not want to be pitied. At this moment there is no logical reason to pity me. I'm in remission and in no way unable to work with all of you towards the betterment of our nation and our world. But I know that's not how the human mind tends to operate. From now on, you're going to look at me and think of the disease first. You'll wonder if it will progress, and how, and when. You'll wonder if the slightest stumble or falter I make is a sign of progression. You won't want to trust me - with decisions or information or anything of the slightest importance. You'll feel sorry for me. And that is what I fear the most."

Bartlet stopped, breathing somewhat quickly. His wife moved for the first time in many minutes, to place her left hand on his right forearm in an eloquent gesture of support.

He shook his head, as though to evict the demons haunting him, and gave her a look that spoke volumes for all its brevity. The he returned to the public glare.

"All right. Everyone now knows this truth about me, and how I've handled that truth, and why. On to topic number two. There is another reason why I'm feeling extremely regretful this evening." He set his teeth. "Last night, there was a car accident in the city involving a drunk driver. The driver of the other car... was killed."

Just about everyone watching guessed at once that this sad news involved a friend; why else would he bring it up? Still, why mention it *now,* in the middle of a live broadcast revealing his own nefarious activities? He wasn't the first person to mourn an accident casualty, or even the first President. Surely he wasn't trying to capitalize off of someone else's death just to distract the public eye from a scandal - !

No; judging by the cold anguish in his eyes, this was very personal indeed.

"The victim is someone that hardly any of you know... and that's almost as much a tragedy as her actual death. Delores Landingham was sixty-eight years old. She was a member of my staff for fifteen years, and throughout those fifteen years she never missed a day's work. She was a surrogate mother to most of the staff in the White House - including myself. She was a dear friend to my wife and daughters. She was my personal secretary throughout much of my political career, and I have never known anyone to do *any* job more efficiently or with greater dedication. She will be hugely missed. She already is."

The President was blinking. So was the First Lady.

The world was silent, in tribute to a man's honest grief.

"I have a specific purpose to why I'm telling you this. There can't be too many adults alive today who haven't had to mourn at least one friend or family member. I know, too, that the number of families that have been decimated by drunk drivers is horrific. Nothing new there. But just give me a minute longer."

He inhaled carefully, not quite steadily.

"Less than two hours ago, I met the young woman who caused the crash. She'd been on her way home from a friend's party, and she thought herself perfectly safe to drive. She emerged from the collision virtually unscathed. *And*... she has had a previous license suspension for impaired driving."

Slowly, Bartlet's hands closed into fists.

"I might as well admit that never in my life have I been so tempted to injure another person with my own hands. But of course, that would accomplish nothing beneficial. Never mind the fact that such retribution would be *wrong.* It wouldn't make me feel better in the long run. It wouldn't make this young driver feel any worse than she already does. And it wouldn't bring the dead back to life.

"Now I have another confession to make." Pause. "I was no less to blame for Mrs. Landingham's death than the person that hit her."

This time, when the President bowed his head he kept it bowed. Even so, the viewers could see his face flush with shame.

"My secretary had left the White House that evening to pick up her first-ever brand-new car. I spoke with her just before she left, teasing her about how careful she had been purchasing it. And then I asked her to come back afterwards, so that I could see this new car... and because I had something to tell her."

He had to stop again, to struggle with himself. The world waited for him.

"I was going to tell her about the MS. I'd never been able to bring myself to do so before. I wanted her to hear it from me before this broadcast. So I asked her to come back." Yet another pause. "And on the way..."

Nobody moved - not even the First Lady, watching her husband with the same radiating sorrow he now projected.

Somehow, he found the fortitude to look up once more. "You know, that young driver and I have more in common that one might think. Both of us have a serious problem. Both of us have denied that it *is* a problem. Both of us believed that we were in control of the situation. Well, you can see how much control either of us *really* has after all. Between the two of us, we've managed to destroy a human life."

Slowly, heavily, Bartlet sighed. "Right now, I'm doing my best to forgive that young woman... because I want to be forgiven in turn. By my friends and family, who knew and loved Mrs. Landingham as well. By you, my fellow citizens, who may well be feeling at this time that your President has betrayed you. I need God's forgiveness. And someday, perhaps, I'll be able to forgive myself."

In this next silence, he reached across and placed his hand over his wife's. They traded another look that spanned emotions too intense for words.

When the President turned back, something new sparked in his vision: something sharp. "Which brings us to the third subject for tonight. I've misled the public. I've fallen short of the high standards that your elected leader should uphold. Many of you are no doubt thinking that I should resign... or be impeached. Both are fair options. God knows I deserve whatever happens next. But strangely enough, I don't want to just run away. I have no desire to even attempt to flee from the general censure that's sure to break. I'd much rather stay and face the music, no matter how harsh it may get, and then - hopefully - get back to work. Despite the errors I've made, and the terrible consequences they've had, I still believe that I can do this job. That I have done it well in the past, and that I can do it better in the future. In fact, I've never been more motivated to work in my life.

"The next question that I know is seething in a lot of minds at this moment is: do I intend to run again? Here, at last, I have a *simple* answer for you. *Yes.*"

Perhaps he was imagining the cheers of relief in certain circles, and the howls of outrage in others. His entire posture straightened, accepting the call to battle.

"Yes, I want to run again. Whether I actually *do* run is up to you, the voters. Do I regret hiding the truth from you? More than you'll ever know. I'm so glad that I don't have to hide from this secret any longer. I'm so sorry it took me this long to come clean. Believe me, I'm hurting as much as anyone else. Now... now I am laying my career and my very life at your feet. I am casting myself upon the verdict of the government and of the nation. I am waiting to hear what you think.

"Do you want your President to have MS?" Pause. "Rest assured, I don't either. Well, what about cancer? Or diabetes? Or hemophilia, or polio, or Addison's?" Those historians among the audience would recognize certain conditions of certain Presidents in the past. "There are hundreds of similar diseases out there, inflicting millions of people all over the world. Thanks to medical technology and pharmaceutical research today, a large percentage of them live perfectly normal and productive lives. At this point in time, I am still one of them.

"Anyone can suddenly fall prey to a previously-unanticipated affliction. Most of us don't go through life wondering if we *might* develop a medical condition. We don't have our doctors run us through batteries of tests for every ailment in the book. We just go on living and hope we stay healthy. That's exactly what *I* did, for five-sixths of my life. Suppose one day, without warning, a future President suffers a heart attack? Or an epileptic seizure? A lot of these things are not predictable. If he swore he hadn't lied about his health, would any of you be all that eager to believe him anymore?

"If any other business executive, or member of the military, or administrative worker, were compelled to resign because he or she did not disclose such a health detail, there would be a gigantic human-rights outcry. Well, what about a politician? Maybe... a governor? So what makes a President any different? It shouldn't be just a matter of the influence and sheer power behind this office. There are procedures in place that will function just as well as they do in the event of an assassination. Or if your elected leader abuses his authority. Or if he goes insane. The result of the equation is the same, no matter what the variable.

"Fine, then. What's next? What kind of precedent are we as a nation about to establish? Are we going to demand that every Presidential *hopeful* disclose his entire family history, for fear there might be something buried six generations back that even he doesn't know about? Are we going to insist that every politician from now on undergo in-depth genetic testing, just in case? Does *that* sound like an invasion of privacy to any of you?

"Think about it. Consider all the legal battles that have been fought over our constitutional right to personal freedom and privacy. Try to imagine how easily public opinion could become so prejudiced on election day, to the extent where citizens with the least medical difficulty will not dare to run. And what's to say that it will stop with politics? Will people with illnesses become second-class citizens? Where do we draw the line?

"Yes, I have not been entirely honest with you. Well, I've had more than two years now to prove myself to you. I'm coming forward at this time, among other reasons, because I refuse to seek another term without your *informed* consent. I want my administration to speak for itself. I want every citizen of this country to decide if I'm still the kind of President you want, if I've upheld my oath of office. Whether you feel that I've done a poor job of it so far, or whether you feel that you can't trust me any longer, I'm asking only that you examine the entire scenario honestly.

"I want to stay in the White House. I want to keep striving for a better life, a better country. I want to get the drunk drivers off the roads. I want to get the guns off the streets. I want to get drugs away from children. I want to honor a dear friend's memory, not by spinning it to political advantage, but by doing my utmost to ensure that others won't have to mourn the way I am right now. If that's not good enough for you, then let me know. I will accept the will of the people. It is your decision. It should be, and it always has been. That is the basis of a democracy - a democracy I have been privileged and proud to serve."

Bartlet halted, breathless from that burst of passion. He let go of his wife's hand to mop his forehead again. For a moment it looked like he might say more, but then thought better of it. He'd bared his heart. At this crossroads in time, there was nothing more to say.

"We appreciate your attention. Thank you all, and have a good night."

And so the live transmission ended, with the winking out of a small red light.

As a result, the public did not witness the next few heartbeats in the Mural Room just now, but they *were* shown in subsequent reviews of the still-rolling tape. Shown many times over.

The President rose from his chair. Stiffly, as though he'd been sitting for the better part of a lifetime. He must have endured the entire broadcast with every nerve taut.

"Okay, back to work," he ordered to the room at large. "I've got a press briefing in a few minutes that's gonna tear me apart. I still have a duty to lead this nation." His next words came more slowly. "And I have a wake to attend."

There was nothing the slightest bit rehearsed or planned about this glimpse behind the scenes. No actor could have duplicated it - nor could an actress have done so poignant a job as the First Lady did in turn. She stood as well, stepped into her husband's path and placed both hands on his shoulders. Bringing him to a halt right in front of her.

He hesitated, just looking at her. Then he placed his hands on *her* shoulders as well. And together, totally ignoring the crowd of strangely-silent staff and technicians on all sides, they stood motionless with their foreheads touching, and their eyes visibly damp.

*****


End file.
